The penthouse was quiet too quiet.The kind of silence that wasn't peaceful, but tense, like the stillness before a storm.
Arianna stepped out of the en-suite bathroom, steam curling behind her as she wrapped herself in a silk robe. Damien was in the bedroom, seated on the edge of the bed, still wearing his white dress shirt, the top button undone, a glass of amber liquid in his hand.
His eyes flicked up briefly when she entered, then returned to his drink.She had expected no, hoped—that there would be some kind of warmth between them tonight. After all, they were married now, even if the marriage was just a contract. But Damien's posture told her otherwise. He looked as though she were an obligation, a formality to be endured rather than… anything else.
"Are you planning to sit there all night?" Arianna asked, crossing the room.
"I haven't decided yet," he replied coolly, swirling the liquor in his glass. "It's been a long day."
Her brow furrowed. "I thought… this would be different."
"That's your mistake," Damien said without looking at her. "Expectations lead to disappointment."
The words stung, sharper than she wanted to admit. She took a seat at the vanity, pretending to focus on combing through her damp hair, but her reflection betrayed her a flicker of hurt crossing her face.
"I'm not asking for fireworks, Damien," she said finally. "Just… maybe some acknowledgement that this is a big deal."
He set his glass down with a soft click. "It's not a big deal to me, Arianna. It's business. And if you keep treating it like something else, you'll only make this harder on yourself."
Her heart tightened. "So that's it? No effort at all?"
"I've already made the effort," Damien replied. "I married you."
She turned in her chair to face him fully, anger sparking in her chest. "You act like that's some kind of charity."
"Isn't it?" His voice was low, almost dangerous. "Do you have any idea what I risked agreeing to this arrangement?"
She opened her mouth to answer but stopped. He was right in one sense she didn't know. Because he'd made it very clear she wasn't allowed to ask. Rule one.
"That's exactly the problem," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "You expect me to follow your rules without question, but you won't even let me understand the man I'm married to."
Damien's gaze hardened. "Understanding me isn't part of the contract."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The tension was so thick she could almost hear it crackle in the air.
Finally, Damien rose from the bed. He walked to the closet, removed his shirt, and hung it neatly before retrieving a fresh T-shirt.
"You take the bed," he said, his tone flat. "I'll sleep in the other room."
Her jaw dropped. "Are you serious?"
"I don't see the point in pretending," he said. "You want a wedding night? This is it cold, efficient, and over quickly."
The dismissal was like a slap. Arianna's chest burned, but she forced herself not to show it. "Fine," she said, lifting her chin. "Go sleep wherever you want. I don't care."
But she did care. She cared more than she wanted to admit. And that made her angry at him, and at herself.
After Damien left the room, she sank onto the bed, the silk sheets suddenly feeling heavy and suffocating. She lay there staring at the ceiling, the city lights casting faint patterns across the room.
This was supposed to be the start of their life together even if it was fake. Instead, it felt like the beginning of a war neither of them had the energy to fight.
Hours later, she woke to the sound of the balcony door sliding open. Pushing herself up on her elbows, she saw Damien outside, leaning against the railing, a cigarette glowing faintly between his fingers.
She hesitated, then rose and stepped outside. The night air was cool, carrying the distant hum of the city below.
"I thought you didn't smoke," she said softly.
"I don't," he replied, eyes fixed on the skyline. "Except on nights I can't sleep."
"What's keeping you awake?"
He gave a humorless laugh. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"Try me."
Damien turned his head just enough to meet her gaze. For a heartbeat, she thought he might actually answer. But then he shook his head. "Go back inside, Arianna. It's cold."
She lingered for a moment, wanting to push, wanting to demand he let her in. But the wall between them was too high tonight. So she returned to bed, the sound of the balcony door closing behind her like the click of a lock.
As she lay there, she realized something: the real danger wasn't that she might fall in love with Damien. It was that she already wanted to understand him and that desire was far harder to control.
The clock on the wall ticked past midnight, each second echoing louder in the empty space between them. Arianna lay on her side, her back to the door where Damien had disappeared hours earlier. Sleep didn't come only restless thoughts and the steady thud of her own heartbeat.
Finally, she pushed the sheets aside and padded into the living room. The lights were dim, shadows stretching long across the marble floor. Damien was there, seated on the couch, still awake. He hadn't bothered to turn on the television. He just sat in silence, a half-empty glass of whiskey resting on the table in front of him.
"You're still up," she said quietly.
"So are you," he replied without turning his head.
She crossed her arms, the thin silk of her robe doing little to shield her from the chill in the air—or the chill in his tone. "We can't keep doing this."
"Doing what?"
"Pretending there's nothing here," she said. "We're married now, Damien. We can't just… act like strangers forever."
He finally looked at her then, his gaze sharp and unreadable. "I'm not pretending, Arianna. We are strangers. And that's how it needs to stay."
The words landed like stones in her stomach. "You don't mean that."
"I do." His voice was steady, but there was something else there something almost like regret. "The moment you start thinking this is more than it is, you'll get hurt. And I'm not going to be the one to do it."
Her brows knit together. "You think you're protecting me?"
"I know I am."
A bitter laugh escaped her. "You're not protecting me, Damien. You're protecting yourself."
For the briefest moment, his jaw tightened, a crack in his otherwise perfect composure. But he didn't deny it.
She sat on the arm of the couch, close enough to smell the faint trace of his cologne mixed with the bite of whiskey. "You think if you keep me at arm's length, you can control everything. But that's not how people work. That's not how marriages work."
"This isn't a marriage," he said firmly. "It's an arrangement. And if we start blurring the lines, the whole thing will fall apart."
"You mean you will fall apart."
Damien stood abruptly, walking toward the kitchen. "Go to bed, Arianna."
She followed him with her eyes but didn't move. "You can push me away all you want, but eventually, I'm going to find out what you're hiding."
He paused, one hand resting on the counter, his back still to her. "You don't want to know," he said softly, almost to himself.
Arianna swallowed hard. Every instinct told her to keep pressing, to force him to open up. But the look in his eyes briefly visible when he turned his head wasn't one of defiance. It was the look of a man carrying something too heavy to share.
She stepped back, deciding to retreat for tonight. "Good night, Damien."
He didn't answer.
Back in the bedroom, Arianna climbed into bed, pulling the sheets tightly around her. She hated that a part of her still wanted him to walk through that door, to close the distance between them.
But he didn't come. And the space between them felt wider than ever.